Monday, June 1, 2020

ABOUT THE MYTH OF VENUS APHRODITE



¡Oh goddess of love and beauty!
and of all feminine attributes;
born of the foam of the sea
that kisses the coastline of Cytherea.

Happy island, the Hours welcomed you
and in their diaphanous car they took you
towards Olympus the dwelling of the gods
where you left everyone speechless.

And there the laughter, the Graces and the games
were your companions, your courtship;
wearing a diadem of myrtle and roses
and doves and swans as escorts.

A girdle made it even more attractive
your sexy figure in her charms
with the force that in male–gods
you exercised in youthful power.

Jupiter the father to them all,
advised by the jealous Hera
—"mulier muliere lupa"— arranged your compromise  
to the ugliest of all around, Vulcan.

An unpresentable misshapen dwarf
all dirty from soot from the smithy
where he forged the weapons to the gods;
a funny couple you made by all accounts.

It didn't take long for others to comfort you,
among them Ares, let's say the "alpha male"
of that court of gods and heroes;
the prototype of testosterone.

Opposite poles you represented fully
the Yin and Yang contraries in fight
the feminine and masculine extremes;
and Sparks flew (from Hephaistos's anvil).

Tired already a little bit of fighting
you somewhat fickle noticed by chance
a well-endowed young man from Arabia:
the passionate hunter named Adonis.

So when living in an intense romance
the jealousy of the warrior awoke
—for violent Ares horns did not consent—
and plotted a revenge which is described
in three sonnets that the story relates. 

... 
Here now goes   "THREE SONNETS TO ADONIS"
...

Serve a stanza to summarize the facts:

"All without missing a year Aphrodite arrives
to the harmful place where her lover died,
mortal wounded by Ares that was cause 
of the wild boar of jealousy that thus reaped the rose .

After his death —or rather murder—
the dea using her olympic influence
made him be like a god up in the skies;
his worship not included sacrifices
thus avoiding such bloody bad memories;
only incense and delicate perfumes.

Cry now with Venus in justice for a thing
that Adonis symbolizes as archetype:
lose youth when you bid the most;
although never worn away by time
as that the old adage here applies:
"he who the gods (or goddess) love dies young."








© albertotrocóniz / 14
Text: from “RITES, MYTHS, SYMBOLS”
Image: “Aphrodite between Mirths and Doves” 
from “DRAWING & PAINTING”

Other related “Blog” “Posts”
on the Board “POEMS OF MYTH”

Monday, March 2, 2020

THE MACBETHS ALSO ILL OF A CORONA-VIRUS



Mental connection in present troubled times,
is good excuse to introduce mi drawing:

"Corona Virus", depicts also the case 
of crown ambition of Macbeth an his wife…

(crown is corona according latin roots).

One more example of curious sincronicity
when I started to make another project .

Work  done in informatics media.
Copies avaiable on photographic paper, without the watermark, numered at the back  and with the original author signature.
(Frame not included; the tone can change somewhat in comparison with the screen).
Sizes and Price: bigest length in paper  A5 / 100€ ,  A4 / 150 € ,  A3 / 250€  …plus shipping costs, other formats please consult.
Send your commands to albertotroconiz@mac.com

© albertotrocóniz / 20
Image: “The Macbeths Prepare Assassination
in “DRAWING & PAINTING”
More links “Post”-related
in my Pinterest Board “DIBUJO Y PINTURA”

Tuesday, February 4, 2020

VARIOUS EVANGELISTS



Why only just the four evangelists 
for present times of "totum revolutum"?.



© albertotrocóniz / 19
Image: “Evangelists”
from “DRAWING & PAINTING
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Tuesday, March 13, 2018

A GREAT SURPRISE IS A SNOWFALL IN HELL


... because Orfeo having transgressed the law 
to rescue Eurydice in journey to the depths 
of the underworld immersed in the dark

... has crossed the lake of memory of cold waters, 
and his arrival announces a snowfall 
the notes of his lyre in falling flakes.




© albertotrocóniz / 18
Text from “PICTO-POETIC MOMENTS ”
Image: “Snowfall in Hell”
in “DESIGN & PAINTING”

Other links to this “Posts”-related
in the Board “DESIGN & PAINTING

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

LOVE IS TO LOOK…


Love is to look into the one in front
and discover astonished the message 
"I'm you", "you are me" ... oh how exciting
the bridges to each other is to walk!

then being conscious that behind the forms
—yours and mine apparently much different—
there is a high calling identity that asks
to join our mouths, our bodies, our souls:

fly high and high, so very steep afar
to timeless time, to the gardens beyond
where we were as a unit, there abaft
all love expressions, melted in pure silence.





© albertotrocóniz / 14
Texto: de “POEMS OF LAY LOVE”
Image: “Eros and Psique”,
A.Canova (1793), Louvre Museum


Otros enlaces “Post”-relacionados:
en el tablero “POEMAS DEL PROFANO AMOR”


Sunday, February 11, 2018

THE RED STONE


In the ancient city the “Red Stone” was found,
it had skulls as bricks, dry blood as mortar;
a holy totem was to the tribes there.





© albertotrocóniz / 18
Text from ”PICTO-POETICAL FLASHES ”
Image: “Red Stone”
from "DRAWING AND PAINTING"

Other Links "Post" -related
in the Board "DRAWING AND PAINTING"


Saturday, February 10, 2018

ETHIOPIAN AURIGA


As a light that advances in the desert
leaving behind the clouds of dust the chariot
rises in progress trough the mist of the dunes,
like a divine ray is your appearance; 
an instrument of some arcane punishment.

Leaving aside the freshness of the oasis,
in front in heaven in flight a pair of pigeons 
guides the way to the forsaken tower.





© albertotrocóniz / 18
Text from ”PICTO-POETICAL FLASHES ”
Image: "Ethiopian Auriga "
of "DRAWING AND PAINTING"

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the Board "DRAWING AND PAINTING"

Sunday, January 7, 2018

ILLUSION AND REALITY IN DETACHMENT

"... I would say to the moment: 
remain, you're so beautiful"
- Fausto / JW Goethe -


On this day I remember my infancy 
in that magical time of school holidays
in Salamanca, late fifties of past century;
was the year-long waited occasion
of Epiphany when children receive presents in Spain.

The big family under the matriarch,
the imposing gothic dining room
with the wide chimney coated in walnut,
and its scent, characteristic odor;
the frieze of the octogonal perimeter, 
high leaded windows with historical symbols, 
the huge long table and the red velvet chairs…
was theater of the gathering for Christmas.

The dining room, that enchanted space, 
was closed "with seven locks" this morning
In which the children waked very early 
to warn grandmother and aunts
that the Kings perhaps have come already.

They had to appease our impatience impulses:
"wait for the rest to come down here all;
meanwhile you have already chocolate
and croutons: first do have breakfast
and after that, we will open the door. "

"Besides, I do not know for sure if Kings have come;
—a shadow of sadness were on our eyebrows
that moved grandmother to change the speech—
… thought I think so because someone has taken
the whole nougat that had been provided 
and the champagne; not even just a drop!,
there is no water left in the basins:
what thirsty camels must have brought!

... and also look, don’t you smell of incense?; 
it is indeed unequivocal sign 
that they've been round here
apart some news that people talk about
of caravans treading the neighborhood."

With these and other such "reliable" data
one almost could see them in flesh and blood 
cladded in their strange exotic garments 
bearing the gifts carried by entourages.

"But still not that heavy guy here present!;
we must go up to pull him from the bed,
throw him sawdust taken from the crib
and put under his pillow a shepherd or a cow... "

After a lapse that seemed to us eternal,
uncles, aunts, grandmother, friends and parents
and of course our noisy bunch of children  
were all assembled in front the closed door:
"who can this open?" but "where is then the key?" ...

What a thrill !, the mystery had us
taken upon his great exotic wings
in a magical and fascinating moment;
Oh yes "you're so beautiful"! , "but please do not stop!".

… and the doors opened -error- to heartbreak:
a great illusion while parcels were unpack
and contents seemed to match the expectations 
then a short time playing with the games;
and life went on, inexorable fate
to grow and thus unravel mysteries.

But these myths of childhood homeland,
layed the foundation of the entire development
to be man and look for other toys
and discard them moreover in detachment.

That was the lesson that taught the "day of Kings":
to make patent with overwhelming intensity
what is happiness and that is fully possible,
but remove shortly from the object the spell;
finally realizing that nothing can give me
the fullness that I am, moreover
I am the only one who put & withdraw
the bliss conveyed by the forms
and is my mind who manipulates the game

... and so stay at the end with the source
from which arrises all the joy and beauty:
my own independent identity no less,
freed from bondages to which I submit:
external things, people or circumstances ...
to be now lived directly from the bottom
where there is joy without motive at all.


© albertotrocóniz / 13
Text: from "AUTOBIO"
Image:"Gifts and Ice",
from "PHOTOPAINTING"


Other “Posts” in “Blog” related
on the board “AUTOBIOGRAPHY”:

Monday, March 30, 2015

THE PILOT, THE DEVIL AND THE DEATH

Feel God even is for eight minutes,
master and lord of lives and destinies:
between my fingers having the life or death
of passengers entrusted to my care.

Alone in cockpit of Airbus 320,
I don´t unlock the door to enjoy the show
all by myself in this bright spring morning
where its rebirth enhances the contrast
to what is soon to come in those snowy mountains
to us approaching with sure and slow pace

... more and more, I an angel of death
to the encounter flying with my wings;
Germanic wings attracted to the impossible
towards a world of mechanical perfection
of orderly and accurate discipline that works
with the beauty and coldness of the engines,
with the beauty and coldness in those cliffs

... where the air is purer to the super-man
—his proper abode is in the peaks—
o Zarathustra! admired Zarathustra
which thus spoke through Nietzsche in the book:
to stay away from mob and the masses
as is the passage today I lead to doom.

The number does not matter,
the weak will never count
in front of the will of the great man
as in the mythical Germany of the Führer
which was also based on the sacrifice
of millions of people in his sake.

Desist miscreants to bang the cabin door,
let me enjoy these moments so special:
the privilege of a supreme will
in company of the devil and of death
—as in the genial engraving of Durero—
along the road that leads towards the chasm.

Yes the devil, he is my co-pilot
forever by my side since I was young,
putting in me this uncontrolled passion
for flying to join him as an angel
in the fatal plunge from the heights
while suggesting to me those weird ideas
of holocaust so much exciting me
sacrificing the herds to the dammed name
exhilarating in a huge bath of blood
and then sinking again into depression.

I took this decision for if they discover
what has been diagnosed of my mind,
for sure they would cut my wings
and I could never for rest of days to come
return to this beautiful skies and to these clouds
and of course that means it will be hell:
the anodyne of everyday life
relegated to bureaucratic jobs,
dropped and finally retired,
stuck on Earth plunged among the mass.

As Mephisto had proposed to me
I have to sign the pact with blood,
not only mine, also of innocents;
he has promised to give me my own wings:
those of a world-renowned reputation
so that I shall have eternal youth
never dying in the mouths of men;
in return he will take care of my soul
to accompany him to the abyss in the fall.

I push the button in the control panel
that initiates the gradual descent.

I conduct them to the sacrificial death
imperative in order to fly free
and in homage to this my strange ego;
after all what cost is to the orb
such common people, returning from vacation
or going to a college in exchange
where they teach merely trifles
and shit they say it is democracy.

Do they know of so many subtleties
that assault in a tormented soul
craving the ideal, searching the impossible
forever seeked by the great Germania:
that of our symphonic music,
of our idealistic philosophy,
of forceful and solid science,
the heroism of the teutonic knight...

As a child I always admired those pilots
who crashed on the enemies their planes;
I wanted to emulate —now I finally will do it—
the heroism of those kamikazes,
"divine wind", encourages the word;
"Gottlicher Wind" in unsere deutsche Sprache.

No, I will not answer impertinences
from radar towers that are requiring me.

The "blond beast" we carry in genes
of Aryan race, that of the ancient Greeks,
not these from now -are all half Turks-
and other defiled Mediterraneans
plus those Moors, Americans, Arabs...
(of all I have a sample among the passage)
and the Jews, surely there are a few
for they seem an inevitable plague.

All those screams sound merely as murmur,
come from the crew outside who begs to me;
I barely hear all the imprecations
as I have in my earphones some Wagner's music
as it is the "Ride of Valkyries"
the right background to match this trance.

You are sheep, you are flock, you are herd,
merely servers, only slaves
that a pharaoh needs in the hecatomb
to die but dying being courted
and keep an eye on my eternal sleep
inside the tomb that are those pyramids
of such silent and magnificent mountains,
forever associated to my name
immortal now entering Olympus
of the Alps, to its legend attached
...

Signed -with blood-
Andreas Gunter Lubitz. 



© albertotrocóniz / 15
Texto: de “POEMAS DE LA SOMBRA”
Imagen: “Ritter, Tod und Teufel”
de Alberto Durero (1513)
en “MUSEO”

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en el tablero “POEMAS DEL GOZO Y DE LA SOMBRA”:



Thursday, November 13, 2014

TRIBUTE TO THOMAS WILLIAM BELTON


The meadow of that sacred resting place
who picked from her such agonizing cries
and the flow of the bleeding wound from him,
pious turned both into flowers to the slab...




© albertotrocóniz / 14
Text: from “TRES SONETOS A ADONIS”
Image: from “Remembrance Day” London 2014


Otros “Posts” del “Blog” relacionados
en el Tablero “TORRE DEL HOMENAJE”:

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

CIRCE: IN PRAISE


The ancient pain that for long I believed
to have been cured, that twinge
of your memory visits me today
and it rushes every time I breathe

for your person from whom I walk away,
you at once very close and very present,
but now a cup of which I do not drink
dying of thirst at sea not having you.

You come to me in happy remembrance
of that time without time that we shared,
waterlogged in your eyes -those dark pits-
in front your slender bearing hypnotized.

And although initially I protected myself
with certain trick of the kind of those you used,
and although I had to threaten you
with my knife caressing on your face;

then as I former did at Troy with horse
I introduced my colt into your walls
and after causing a major burning fire
yielded resistance in the fortress pride;

afterwards the barriers being demolished
in your bed -a snowed battlefield-
in which both of us came out as winners
was just for playing to come to it again.

There your laughter urging me serpentine
then your soft hands feeling on my shoulders
with an intense aroma of violets
the weird enclosure perfuming with its scent

where you worked your magic and your cures
in applying the balsam to my wound;
then in I turn in payment referred
the adventures of my return to home.

Little by little increased mutual trust
between we two, the warrior and the sorceress,
convincing you my comrades to redeem
spellbound previously subdued to your gaze.

Man was for you no better than a pig,
lions or wolves just to increase swine herds
until at last when you arrived to know me
the mistaken idea my love changed.

With sex at nights that populated visions
of arcane realities that were unveiled then
when full of passion embarked our bodies:
lunar spacecraft released to the dark.

Years passed, perhaps they were millennia,
-as it is known: that intercourse is death-
until I felt the call of destination,
returning home to the arms of Penelope.

I see a current pouring out of my chest
that turns to you and it is bloody painful,
as it is love that right now is frustrated
deprived of his drug, and worse, his hope.

Doomed to row alone crossing the sea
the froth of waves splash in my obsession
reaching to me former images from you;
from Eea island to my home in Ithaca,
thy remembrance now accompanies me.




© albertotrocóniz / 13
Text from: "POEMS OF LAY LOVE” 
Image: “Circe and Ulysses”, Edmond Dulac (1882-1953)
from: "PINACOTECA”

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Monday, November 25, 2013

DILEMMA


In forgetfulness of being I immerse myself
in the tempestuous waters of life
which expands its triumphant powers
in the veils of deceit: the existence.

To be or to exist; behold the arcane dilemma:
either I am without qualities and attributes,
or I get lost in the kaleidoscope
of thousand mutant forms and colors

when I confuse my being with the thoughts
who flock unceasingly to the mind
displaying the panoplies of worlds
in play and avatars of existence.

But if the din stops in consciousness
everything becomes zero and fades
and now I am, the potential for all;
no longer there are vessels, water only
without color or shape, in purity at the source.



© albertotrocóniz / 13
Text from: "PHILOSOPHICAL NOTEBOOK”
Image: Laurence Olivier in his film Hamlet (1948)
from: "PHOTOPAINTING”



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